While I was preparing to graduate from High School and go off to college, the rest of my family was preparing to move to St. Charles, Missouri (Suburban St. Louis) so my dad could be the executive director (head honcho, big kahuna, the boss) of the Children's home we left those 7 years back. I knew they would not be in the parsonage after I moved to Kansas City. I knew that I would not be coming back to Jefferson City when I came home for breaks. I knew that the house they moved into would never be "home" for me. I knew that, in the days before Facebook and unlimited texting, it would be hard to the point of impossible to remain in touch with friends. The pictures we exchange and the sentiments I wrote on the back had a poignancy and desperation that surpassed those of my friends (at least in my mind)
I was voted "most dramatic" by my classmates. While part of the reason was the obvious-being in so many plays. .But, it was also obvious to anyone with eyes, that I had (had?) a tendency to over dramatize thing. So little things took on much greater significance and meaning. I cried Like crazy over everything. Every tradition, every ending, every goodbye, every filled moving box and empty shelf. There are some people to whom I said goodbye for the very last time. My violinist friend Susan, my first crush, Nick, my singing buddy, Cindy. Those are people I have not seen since, even on Facebook.
I went to college, made new good friends, went to Grad school, got married...You get the picture. Friends I have now are just as dear, but their is something about those High School friends... I consider the parsonage the house where I grew up. It's where I came of age and hit all those significant milestones. First dates, first kiss, first heartbreak, first triumphs...
My Dad retired and left the house in St. Charles. I have lots of good memories there. too. I even had my Wedding Rehearsal Dinner in that house! But while I loved it, it was never home. It was always my Mom and Dad's house. They now live in a tiny town call Mt. Sterling. St. Charles was not that far from Jeff City, but Mt. Sterling is a mere 30 minutes, and a trip to the movies or the mall, or the GW (Goodwill) are not a big deal. Jefferson City has grown a lot. The northern part of town has a Panera, and Barnes and Nobel. Arris's Pizza is still the best in town, but now they have a fancy bistro rather than a hole-in-the-wall joint.
The parson had some changes right out of the gate. New carpet, forced air heat (no more radiators!) and central air. The new minister moved out of the parsonage, and it quit being a parsonage and served, for a time, as a group home for developmentally delayed adults. I'm sure there are other up grades, too. Maybe a real built-in dishwasher instead of the portable model we used. Or maybe even better plumbing...
My sister now lives in New Jersey, so times where we are together are rare. But two summers ago, we planned a "girl's outing" in Arrow Rock, Missouri. We met up in Mount Sterling and had a few days before our scheduled trip. We went antiquing and to the creek (more on that in another blog), and , of course, went to Jeff for a day. We went shopping and had lunch, made a trip to Central Dairy(of course!) and drove by the parsonage. We were excitedly reminiscing and taking pictures, when a lady came by and asked if she could help us. When we told her we used to live in the parsonage, she said, "Well! Come on in! We are closed today, but I will open it up for you!" .
What was she talking about, you may ask. Well the parsonage is now a thrift store benefitting a private parochial school! It is all set up with clothing displays, furniture, knick knacks...You know, thrift store stuff. We entered the parsonage, our old home, for the first time in over thirty years and the memories poured in.
Here is the entry hall where I put a hole in the ceiling with one of my sister's color guard flags. I didn't tell anyone, and Billy ended up taking the blame. Here was the dining room where my sister used to do her homework. She always pushed back the tablecloth that covered the big dining room table. Drove my mom nuts. Here's the living room where we had the piano. I used to sit and pound out song melodies and sing along for hours. Drove my mom AND my sister nuts. Here's the downstairs powder room where Beth used to practice her flute in the morning. It still has the exact same wall paper! We went through each room and talked about all the different aspects of the house. The kitchen is a private administrative area, but we went in there, too. We didn't go in the stinky basement and the back staircase is blocked off, but we went upstairs to marvel at how small our bedrooms had gotten over the years. How could Paul's tiny room curse have been transferred to ALL of us!
The thrift store staff was having a meeting, and they all said how much fun it was to hear stories and think about someone actually living in the house. Now, whenever I go to Jefferson city, we head to the parsonage thrift store. The cashiers always ask us if we have ever been there before. When I tell the, "Yes. I used to live here." they usually think I mean that I used to live in Jefferson City. I say, "I mean I used to live here" I point down at the floor, "Her in this house" I can watch their eyes start to get it and the say "Oh! People come in here all the time and say they used to spend the night in this house, or come to parties in this house! They must be talking about YOU!
I have taken lots of pictures in the house and , of course, we took pictures in front of the window!
I don't always look this horrendous, but it's hard to take a good picture when you are overcome with nostalgia, joy, sadness and million of happy memories!
Long live the parsonage, and visit if you're ever in Jefferson City. Just be aware, Closed on Wednesday!
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